


aunts aren't gentlemen

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (Passive-Aggressive), Ahsoka Tano Lives, Angst and Humor, Battle of Hoth, Beru Whitesun Lives, During Canon, Endor, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hoth, How Does The Rebellion Actually Run Anyway, Hutts, Knitting, Post-Battle of Scarif, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Religion, Rogue One Lives, Team as Family, The Force, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, War, Weaponised Accountancy, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Beru Whitesun Lars goes to war.





	aunts aren't gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brynnmclean (ilfirin_estel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/gifts).



> Tidied up version of a prompt request from brynnmclean - title is after the PG Wodehouse novel.

Princess Leia disembarks from the  _Millennium Falcon_  with two droids, two smugglers, a farmboy with a lightsaber, and a middle-aged woman with a heavy blaster and a look like she’s hanging on to her sanity by her fingernails. 

 

“It’s good to see you, your Highness. We feared the worst.”

 

“Now is not the time to mourn,” says Princess Leia, and gives directions for the disposal of the droids, who have vital information, the boy, who wants to be a pilot, and the smugglers, who are to be paid.

 

She hasn’t forgotten about the woman, exactly. It’s just that Beru Whitesun Lars looked at three motherless children - counting Han Solo, but not counting Chewbacca, who is the only sensible adult she’s seen since she waved goodbye to Owen this morning - and decided what her job will be, going forward. 

 

Beru follows Leia to her cabin. Leia is trying to change out of her sweaty, nasty ambassadorial gown and has got her dress stuck on her hair. Beru unsticks it, orders her into the fresher, drops the gown in what is probably a laundry basket, and sends C-3PO to get some food.

 

“This is not important,” Leia says, over the sound of the fresher. “I  _need_ to get to the situation room.”

 

“You  _need_ not to faint when you get there,” Beru says. 

 

When she’s satisfied that Leia is off to her meeting with Mon Mothma and assorted high-ranking people in a decent state - fed, washed and properly dressed - Beru goes to check on Luke. She finds him at the quartermaster’s, being issued kit in eye-searing orange.

 

“I see the simulators went well,” Beru says encouragingly, even though her heart is sinking.

 

“I think I sorta broke them,” Luke says, with his usual engaging modesty about his various heart-stoppingly stupid stunts.

 

“Are you here to hand in that blaster, ma’am?” says the quartermaster. 

 

“No,” Beru says. “It belonged to my late husband.”  _I’ll shoot you with it before I hand it over_ goes unspoken.

 

“Right,” the quartermaster says. “Then please get out of the way.”

 

Beru hangs around long enough to see that Luke’s found his new squadron, and then almost walks directly into Biggs Darklighter.

 

“Nan Beru!” he says, with every appearance of delight. “Luke brought you to the Rebel Alliance? Luke’s  _here_?”

 

“I believe he’s just joined his new squadron,” Beru says, instead of any of the other possible answers.

 

“Is Tad Owen here as well?”

 

Beru takes a deep breath. But obviously Biggs Darklighter has learned a thing or two since he left Tatooine, because after that he doesn’t expect her to answer. He just hugs her.

 

“Thank you, Biggs,” Beru says, rather muffled.

 

She really doesn’t know when these boys grew up so big and strong. Or when she got so old, or when Owen got slow enough to be killed by stormtroopers with terrible aim, or when Old Ben lost so many of his vaunted powers that Darth Vader wiped him out like a man drowning a tooka kitten.

 

She pats Biggs on the shoulder when he lets her go and wipes a smudge of oil off his face with a handkerchief.

 

“Fair winds and many waters,” she says. It’s a literal, and unfortunately inaccurate, translation of a formula for goodbye that Shmi taught her once. Beru has only ever used it with Luke, but Biggs recognises it.

 

“Safe harbour and homecoming,” he replies.

 

***

 

Beru watches, powerless, as the Death Star approaches.

 

Leia Organa is sweating like a pig and she has just drawn blood from her lower lip. Beru passes her the handkerchief.

 

That slight movement lets her glimpse a young man previously hidden from her. He has terrible burns slathered in bacta patches, and his hair has been cut short to even it out. His dark eyes are wide and desperate, and his mouth is moving like he’s praying. 

 

Beru’s nephew blows up the Death Star.

 

Beru catches Bodhi Rook before he can actually pass out. He’s babbling when he comes round, something about Cassian and Jyn and a message that must be taken, so Beru pats his hand and agrees she’ll do it until he calms down. 

Then, of course, she goes and does it. She has to argue with the meddroids to get to the man and woman in question - Artoo, fresh off Luke’s X-wing and remarkably feisty, is a very great help - and when she does get there they are unconscious. But she tells them anyway.

 

***

 

Beru has no official role until after they’ve been evacuated and reconstituted on Hoth, which is a truly terrible planet for anyone from a desert, and Beru has never lived anywhere else. She makes do. There is always plenty for her to do, if she knows where to look, and for years Beru and Owen ran a moisture farm single-handed in the teeth of the Hutts while harbouring a child the Emperor would have killed to get his hands on - Beru knows  _exactly_ where to find a problem that isn’t a problem yet.

 

Mon Mothma does not eat. Beru spikes her caff with nutritional supplements and heavy cream. Admiral Ackbar does not like to complain, but the seawater tank in his quarters is broken. Seawater tanks are not very different from vaporators, in reverse, so Beru borrows a hydrospanner and gets to work. Princess Leia is worried she’ll forget her home planet. Beru listens to her tell stories, and sets a recorder going while she isn’t looking. Han Solo is bored and needs an excuse not to leave and Baze Malbus has fidgets inspired by being treated as a hero. Beru arranges for them to notice that some of the administrators’ shooting is awful and they need help to improve. Bodhi Rook cannot speak without stuttering and is self-conscious about it. Beru requisitions a notepad and pen, and drops some broad hints in the Chief Medical Officer’s ear about therapy.  Various people need spiritual comfort and don’t know who Chirrut Îmwe is; Beru lets the stunned and harassed Head Chaplain know he exists and should be recruited to the chaplaincy. The droid K2-SO is still stuck in his disembodied head. Well, Luke is very good with droids and requires some healthy occupation that isn’t running drills or trying to reinvent the Jedi out of thin air and holocrons.

 

Cassian and Jyn - who Beru cannot really think of as Captain Andor and Sergeant Erso - are not awake yet, but Beru makes a point of going to sit with them and giving them the news. She knits while she’s at it. A Tholothian who needed to talk out her problems showed her how. She’s not sure what she’s making, though.

 

“What is all this in aid of,” General Draven enquires, trying to loom over her.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Beru says, and adds “It’s rude to try to intimidate people.”

 

One sandy eyebrow spasms.

 

“I used to negotiate with Hutts and I raised a Jedi apprentice,” Beru elaborates. She drops a stitch. “Drat. So, General, whatever you’re doing, it’s not working.”

 

“Hm,” General Draven says, and sits down in the chair next to her. “What are _you_ doing?”

 

“Solving problems that none of you have noticed,” Beru says.

 

“Really,” General Draven says. “And what rank does that come with?”

 

“What an excellent question,” Beru says, smiling as if she believes that. “I’ve submitted an application to join the Accountancy Division, since I’m a qualified chartered accountant, but as everything’s in a little bit of disorder, it won’t be processed until we reach our destination.”

  
  
“Which is?” General Draven says, eyes narrow.

 

“I don’t know,” Beru says untruthfully. Admiral Ackbar certainly hadn’t meant to leave that particular bit of information up on his screen. “Can I help you with anything else, General?”

 

“No, thank you,” General Draven says. “Unless you’re an Imperial spy.”

 

“How many farmers’ widows turned Imperial spies have you  _met_ , General Draven?” Beru says, admonishing. The kind of tone she used to use on Luke when he said something patently ridiculous.

 

“None that I know of,” General Draven says. “But you’d be perfect for the job.”

 

He goes and sits over by Cassian, and stays there for hours. Beru sits with Jyn, knitting, and tells her all about Chewbacca, who has a very interesting life story, most of which Beru would like to independently verify before she believes any of it.

 

She tells Leia about General Draven, which is a terrible mistake. Leia immediately gets a look on her face like she’s developing a migraine.

 

“Don’t worry,  _niece_ ,” Beru says, and feels a small electric shock go through her because the word ‘niece’ came out in neither Basic nor Huttese. Leia looks at her curiously. “If I really have to do something I’ll just tell Chewbacca he upsets me.”

 

Leia’s confusion turns into laughter. Beru enjoys its echoes and tries not to think too hard about why she just called a princess  _my sibling’s child_  in a language she only ever heard from her late mother-in-law.

 

The only person she’s ever called her sibling’s child is Luke.  Maybe it’s just because they’re so close in age, and because they spend so much time together. Sometimes, even though they don’t really look alike, their expressions are uncannily similar.

 

***

 

Kes Dameron welcomes her to the Accountancy Division. He’s a very nice man who’s polite about her unfancy qualifications, most of them taken by distance learning, and he says she’s picking up the way they do things very quickly.

 

“Let me know if you run into any Hutts,” Beru says, eyes on her screen as she hunts for a discrepancy which is certainly here somewhere. She thinks she’s getting the hang of this job. 

 

“Your specialty?” Kes laughs.

 

“Yes,” Beru says with a smile.

 

Two weeks later, she goes over Rotta the Hutt’s ransom demand with a red pen, a forensic eye, and Threepio’s assistance with the Nal Hutta dialect. Then she drafts a reply, gets Threepio to check it, and sends it.

 

It takes a little more horse-trading than might have been ideal, but the X-wing pilots in question are returned to the Alliance, not sold to the Empire.

 

Beru gets a commendation and a promotion, which will come with a uniform as soon as someone’s managed to make one warm enough in her size.

 

***

 

Beru is sitting next to Cassian’s bedside when he finally opens his eyes and mumbles something.

 

“Don’t worry,” Beru says firmly. “The Death Star is gone, and Jyn is absolutely fine. She woke up last week and tried to stab me with a knitting needle.” Beru checks her chrono. “She ought to be eating dinner with Bodhi now. Would you like me to find her?”

 

“Mrgh,” Cassian says, and slides back into unconsciousness.

 

Beru carries on knitting. Her piece of fabric is very lumpy and has holes in it.

 

She notifies Jyn, Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, and Kaytoo, and then tells the nurses that she saw Cassian wake up. As a consequence, Cassian’s team reaches him before General Draven. It will do General Draven good to realise he can’t monopolise the young man, even though - from what Mon Mothma has let fall - Beru gathers that Cassian is General Draven’s most prized asset.

 

“You did that on purpose,” General Draven sighs.

 

“Dear me,” Beru says. “What did I do?”

 

She can almost hear Owen shaking his head and groaning at her.

 

***

 

“Do you believe in the Force?” Chirrut Îmwe asks her, one very cold night in the room that has been turned into his chapel. He is teaching new Guardians of the Whills. The Holy City of Jedha is gone, of course, but the Force is not.

 

“You try living less than ten miles from Obi-Wan Kenobi and  _not_  believing in the Force,” Beru says.

 

The chapel is empty, except for the two of them. It’s very late.

 

“I believe the old Jedi used to say that there was no death, there was only the Force,” Chirrut says.

 

“They seem to have said some very strange things,” Beru says. 

 

Chirrut smiles.

 

There are two heavy clay bowls on the space that is not an altar, because the Guardians of the Whills don’t have altars. They flank a kyber crystal and they sit within patterns painted onto the floor that probably mean something to Chirrut and Baze.

 

One bowl has water in, the other sand. There are only two Tatooinians left in Echo Base, to Beru’s knowledge. She thinks Luke must have asked nicely.

 

She closes her eyes and sees Owen, grumbling at her for adopting all these waifs and strays. Jyn keeps trying to teach her things like lockpicking and slicing, which she says are useful to the kind of accountants who work for the Alliance. Cassian speaks Alderaanian to Princess Leia for long hours because Beru asked him to. Baze Malbus maintains her weapons like they’re his own. Rogue Squadron never go anywhere without bringing her back some kind of amazingly tacky souvenir describing her as the WORLD’S BEST AUNTIE. (Once it was a stormtrooper helmet. Wedge Antilles has a very nice hand with fine lettering.) Mon Mothma keeps having her round for tea. It’s always nice to talk to a real adult. For the same reason, Beru often goes to sit with Chewbacca and be told unlikely stories in a loud roaring voice while she knits, and the tears run down her face.

 

This is the size of the hole Owen has left in her heart, and since Obi-Wan Kenobi is gone, Beru is bereft of the consolation of yelling at him.

 

“I miss him very much,” Beru says. Her eyes are open.

 

“But you find there is a lot to do.”

 

An explosion rocks Echo Base.

 

“These kriffing children,” Beru sighs, getting to her feet. Her knees creak. There is a fire extinguisher on the wall, because who says fire extinguishers can’t be holy.

 

When she leaves, she takes it with her.

 

***

 

Luke disappears after the Battle of Hoth. So does Leia, but at least Leia is known to have left Echo Base with Han Solo and Chewbacca. Luke is thought to have been alone, and there is nothing to prove he left Hoth’s airspace.

 

“Any ideas where he’s gone, Mrs Lars?” General Draven enquires, trying to straighten out the chaos.

 

“Madam Whitesun Lars,” Beru corrects. He’s doing it on purpose to annoy her, which is embarrassingly childish for a man who is at least as old as Beru herself. “And no, of course I don’t. If I did I’d be out there yelling at him.”

 

Cassian is trying very hard to keep a straight face.

 

Beru knits, purls, fails at the purl, undoes it. “I’d be interested to know why you believe he isn’t dead.”

 

Her voice is totally steady.

 

“Until now, I never knew a woman could knit aggressively,” General Draven tells Cassian on her way out. “Remarkable.”

 

“Sir,” he says, neutral.

 

***

 

“I’m sure they’ll be back,” Wedge Antilles says nervously, hovering over Beru in the chapel.

 

“I’m sure they will too,” Beru says. “I can smell alcohol, young man.”

 

“Um -”

 

“Is it any good?”

 

“No,” Wedge says, incurably truthful. 

 

“I would like a glass,” says Beru.

 

Luke’s twenty-second birthday came and went yesterday. So did Leia’s.

 

***

 

A Jedi who doesn’t call herself one stops by when Luke’s not there. She’s tall and a Togruta, and she’s carrying the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders almost as much as Leia does. Cassian and Jyn say that Beru ought to call her Fulcrum.

 

“Really,” Beru says, but doesn’t question it further. “Well, I’m afraid Luke’s not here and I don’t know where he’s got to. But you should still stay for dinner.”

 

Fulcrum tries to protest.

 

“You’re too old to be this silly,” Beru says, which always worked on Luke.

 

Fulcrum stays for dinner. Beru has to search for a recipe that Togrutas can eat - Beru herself never had much animal protein Owen or Luke didn’t hunt - but at least she doesn’t burn it.

 

Fulcrum may be a nameless spy with odd Force powers and bad timing, but she is very polite and says thank-you very nicely. When Jyn tells Beru she’s just been privileged to meet the last Temple-trained Jedi of the Old Republic, Beru comments favourably on the woman’s table manners.

 

It makes Jyn smile, at least.

 

***

 

Luke returns short one hand and one Han, but with Leia.

 

“Luke  _Skywalker_ ,” Beru says. “Do you have any idea how  _worried_ I was?”

 

“Auntie,” Luke begs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -”

 

Beru allows herself to burst into tears. Luke deserves to feel a little guilty.

 

Leia also looks appalled. Selfishly, childishly, Beru enjoys being made a fuss of, and the number of promises that are made to her (which will probably be mostly broken, but not right away). She’s learning to live in the moment.

 

***

 

“What  _is_  that thing, Whitesun Lars?” General Draven asks, after Beru has stopped by for an update on the ongoing situation that is Luke, Leia and Han on Tatooine, which General Draven neither gave nor authorised Cassian to give. But he did turn his back while Jyn told Beru everything they knew.

 

“My knitting?” Beru says. It’s at least a foot and a half long now and many parts of it have been undone and redone so many times the wool is frayed. “Honestly, Draven, I have no idea.”

 

***

 

Beru considers herself lucky to make it to the end of the war. She obviously has nothing to do with Endor, and isn’t there for the party that first heady night. She makes it down the day after, along with all the higher-ups who are keen to be on the ground where history was made: Bodhi Rook finds her a seat in his shuttle, along with Chirrut and Baze. She checks on Cassian and Jyn and Kaytoo and all the pilots, hugs Leia and Han very tightly and refrains from wishing them joy, and goes with Luke to stand in the place where Darth Vader was burned and listen, one hand on Artoo’s dome, while Luke tells her the story of what happened on the second Death Star.

 

She finds Mon Mothma taking tea with General Draven in a makeshift command tent, where the few people who are aware that they still need to work out what to do next are working. General Draven hates tea, but Mon Mothma loves it. 

 

“To the end of the war,” Mon Mothma toasts.

 

“We’re not there yet,” General Draven cautions.

 

Mon Mothma almost rolls her eyes.

 

Beru smiles. She removes her knitting from her bag and starts in with her needles.

 

“Not that again,” General Draven groans, but feebly. He’s getting used to her.

 

“I must confess to some curiosity,” Mon Mothma admits.

 

Beru slips stitch over stitch, and pulls the wool through the last loop, tying it off. Then she drapes her vibrantly pink, war-sized scarf decoratively around General Draven’s neck.

 

“Some friendly advice, Davits,” she says, still smiling. “Lighten up.”

 


End file.
